Rita gave a little shrug of acknowledgement. Violet had arrived out of the blue, as Eddy hadn’t told his family he’d got married, and everyone had had to get accustomed to her strong Mancunian accent and braying laugh, which could shake the walls. Her lanky frame and general resemblance to Olive Oyl from the Popeye cartoons made her an easy target for gossip to begin with, but it had soon died down, particularly when she had begun to help out in the shop. Now she was accepted by all but the most petty-minded, such as the occasional older dock worker, who pretended he couldn’t understand what she was saying.

Dolly was sure what she was saying was true, but she kept to herself her other thoughts. She knew, though she never mentioned it, just how desperate Violet was for a family of her own. Violet had never talked about it but, with her sharply honed instinct, Dolly could tell. It was the way Violet looked after little Georgie, never complaining; always ready to play with him even when she was dog-tired. Or the way she was with Michael and Megan on their rare visits, never too busy to listen to them and their stories of life on the farm. Dolly recalled how, when she’d first arrived, Violet hadn’t told them about her real background, letting it be known she was an only child, the orphan of a respectable vicar and his wife. In fact she was too ashamed of the real version, that she was one of eight. It was true her father was dead, but her mother had still been alive then, an alcoholic married to an abusive second husband. Violet had visited her mother for the final time just before a bomb had killed her. So now Violet was genuinely an orphan with nowhere else to go, but she had found her true home with the Feenys.

‘I do hope not,’ Rita said, pausing to drain the last of her tea. ‘I couldn’t do without her help, you know. I’m glad you think I’ve made the right decision.’

Dolly nodded vigorously. ‘And besides, she can be godmother next time,’ she suggested. ‘You’ll not be stopping at little Ellen here, now will you?’ She raised her eyebrows and smiled.

‘Honestly, Mam!’ Rita didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or cross or pleased. She ended up a mixture of all three. ‘I’ve barely given birth to this one; it’s far too soon to be thinking of any more.’